Social Skilz

I wish I had them.

I mean, I think I have some. I do have friends. I seem to participate in social events without making S. want to crawl under a rock. I appear to be capable of making a good impression on people.

But in some situations, the natural thing to do doesn't occur to me.

I just took the dog for a walk. We met an adorable little black pug. I have learned that when two dog walkers intersect, if they stop to let their dogs visit, only the dogs get introduced. It's a strange little phenomenon but it's just how it is.

We also met two people who were dogless. They were standing outside their houses, chatting. They introduced themselves, I introduced myself. And the dog. And then didn't really ask them any other questions. Half way down the block, after we'd left, I realized I should have inquired as to their jobs and lives, since they were obviously willing to chat with me and I felt that initial interested spark that indicates possible friendship. And since I'm trying to meet people right now since I haven't got many friends in Calgary, that would have been good to follow up on.

But I didn't. And now I may never see them again and have missed an opportunity to make new friends.

Sigh.

Maybe that wasn't an abnormal thing not to think of though.

Or maybe I've been spending too much time with the dog.

Balance

This has been a summer of learning.

I have never had a summer where I haven't been surrounded by people. Whether it was in a theatre, at a restaurant, or in a museum, I have never had a shortage of humanity to immerse myself in.

I am not an extrovert. I find excessive amounts of people exhausting. I get 'peopled out' and need to retreat to solitude to retain my sanity.

But this summer, I have learned that there is such a thing as too much 'solo time'.

This is the first summer in years that I have felt loneliness. This is the first summer that I have had to go out of my way to find a social outlet - the first summer I've felt a need for a social outlet in the first place. Usually I get enough human contact during the day, at work.

But now I don't get that. I spend my days with a puppy. I see S. and almost no-one else. I occasionally talk on the phone with people, and that's it.

That's not enough.

So I'm learning how to create a social life. I've never had to do that before, and it's a strange new experience for me.

In the process I'm also learning that I'm not very good at incorporating all aspects of my life into a blended whole. I tend to focus exclusively on one thing at a time, to the detriment to all else. I am writing and the house falls to pieces around me. I am cleaning and I abandon my artistic side. I start doing Arbonne and I ignore upcoming auditions until the last minute. I decide I need a social life and I cease to be productive on any other level.

It's a problem but at least I'm learning now instead of when I'm old and wrinkled and unable to change.


I've been reading Dooce, a blog my mom introduced me to. Being the kind of person I am, I've actually gone back and am working my way through every single post she's ever written. I wish I'd done that before I started writing my blog. I've learned a lot - this post particularly has riveted itself to my brain. I don't always think about the possible fallout my online work might have on offline work, or life. There are things I've written here that I wish I would have taken more time to think out, or perhaps not written here at all and kept them in my private journals, or in my brain, unwritten. Not that I've experience huge fallout from what I've written, but I know I've inadvertently affected people negatively and that, I can't help but think, has changed relationships for me.

It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with balance; but perhaps it does. A balance between writing the truth in my life and my head and being aware of how that truth will affect the people around me.

So it's been a summer of learning. And I don't see it stopping any time soon...and that's okay.

Exchanges

I'm learning a lot right now, about myself, about my thought processes, about my perspectives and perceptions and assumptions.

I wouldn't have thought that Arbonne, a health and wellness company, would have spurred self-examination and growth; at least not so quickly. My sponsor told me Arbonne was a self-growth company disguised as a health and wellness company and it's proving true so far.

I signed up for several reasons. It's something that I think will keep me from being homeless while giving me the time control to pursue acting and writing; and I like the products. But I also was just tired of being unemployed, tired of waiting for someone else to give me a chance.

I went and listened to a talk by Keith Kochner - he's called the Gap Guy because he helps people identify the gaps between where they are and where they want to go and eliminate those gaps. It blew my mind apart. I wish I could have gone to the whole 2 day exchange, since a 15 minute talk had such an impact, but I didn't hear about it in time. Still. 15 minutes was enough to give me food for thought for a week.

He said in order to get where you want to go, you have to make exchanges. Obviously what I've been doing hasn't gotten me where I want to be. Why didn't I think of this on my own? I don't know.

And this will change my life. It'll help me to set and achieve goals in every aspect of my life.

Now all I have to do is implement it...

My Life This Past Month

I haven't posted anything here in almost a month.

It's not like I've been terribly busy this past month or anything.

This past month I've:

written
procrastinated
fought the darkness
fought the light
spent time with friends
isolated myself
cut my hair - bad, bad idea
been frustrated with and in love with puppy Z at the same time
gone and house/pug sat for my parents
become an Arbonne consultant

My life in a nutshell.

The last few days, since becoming a consultant, I've had an excuse for business. Huh. I meant to spell 'busyness' but I guess business works too. Steep learning curve but it's good for me. I'm already meeting some really cool people and getting out of my head - I had no idea how much I needed that until I started.

The last month for puppy Z has involved learning a few new tricks (she rolls over now, and we're starting her on a military routine - she sits, lays down, crawls a few paces and rolls over before sitting back up - you never know when you're going to need a puppy marine) and chewing on EVERYTHING. Hence the 'in love' and 'frustrated with'. She eats, literally eats, wood, whether that be baseboards or stair edges. And paint. And bits of the carpet. Argh. Just chew on your bully stick, you dumb animal. And then she sits there, all cuteness and little jowls, and how can I stay mad at that?

Lots of learning, on many levels and to many purposes. Life, I guess.

In a nutshell.

It's A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood

All the crazies come out in the summer.

The landlord is fixing the screen door, finally. Or trying to. I'm not sure how much success he's having.

He is simultaneously interrogating the neighbour, asking if he's the one who left the couch in the dumpster. It's a little awkward for me, even though I'm inside trying to ignore them.

"Did you leave the couch in the dumpster?"

"I'm not answering that. I pay the rent." Blah blah blah.

"Yes, but you do live in my property."

I try to tune it out.

By the way, the neighbour totally did leave the couch there. Is it against the law? I don't know, but he's not owning up to it and damned if I'm going to get involved in the craziness that lives next door. They argue outside by our parking spot a few times a month. They ask us for drugs that we don't have. They've asked us for money. In general I think they're not dangerous, but I don't feel comfortable with them either. They spent the whole weekend drinking - not unusual, and it doesn't bother me until they start getting in arguments and smashing glass jars in our parking spot. The dog took offence and barked at them.

At least the soberest one of them cleaned up the glass before S. got home.

***

The screen is fixed and I can hear the landlord destroying said couch with a hammer. I hear a saw now too.

The dog doesn't know what to make of this permeable barrier keeping her from enjoying the plants on the balcony. By enjoying I mean eating. I'm glad to finally have a functional screen. It's much cooler in here with a breeze flowing through.

Even if it's tinted with cigarette smoke. I think smoking is disgusting. I know, and love, some people who smoke. Smokers aren't disgusting. But smoking? So, so gross. Ick.

The other neighbours are nice people. They have two little kids and the dog likes to play with them. They're from Sri Lanka, and they've never had a dog of their own, so they like to play with her too. Their mother lent me two books when she found out I like to read, and she gave me some lettuce that she'd been growing. When the sweet peas are blooming I'll bring her a bouquet.

Provided the plants haven't been eaten by the dog, or choked out from the smoke.

Argh

I'm frustrated.

Frustrated with my life.

I hate being unemployed.

I feel like I'm unemployable and I hate it.

I hate feeling like I'm a creative hack.

Like I won't ever act again.

I have a growing hole on both my resumes and there is nothing I can do about it.

When I try things fall through so I wonder why I bother.

I've considered going back to school, to learn something else, something that I could enjoy and actually make a living at too.

But is that giving up?

Or is that reality?

I don't know.

And so I'm frustrated.

The People Whisperer, or How My Dog is Teaching Me To Breathe

I took four years of training to become an actor. A self-aware, emotionally intelligent, physically in-tune person. I know it's a journey, I'm not 'there' yet, etc., etc.

But I certainly thought I had an edge on everyone else.

Apparently I am not immune to arrogance. And apparently it took an 8 week old puppy to show me that.

Yes, we recently got a puppy. Zoey, the adorable Boston Terrier. She's smart. She's stubborn and feisty and a bit of a suck. It's a lethal combination. We've had her a week and she's already housebroken (for the most part). She knows if she whines in the direction of the door she can go out to do her business (she's very concerned about her stock portfolio). Looking downstairs gets her to her food. Pitiful whining at the bottom of the staircase (that she can actually climb on her own) gets her carried up to the living room for playtime.

We're training her using Cesar Millan's Dog Whisperer techniques. It's surprisingly effective. We 'claimed' the kitchen and bathrooms and she stays out of those rooms. We reward calm behaviour and correct un-asked for excitement. We maintain calm, assertive energy and she recognizes us as pack leaders.

Oh, alright. S. maintains calm, assertive energy and she recognizes him as a pack leader. When I'm calm and assertive, she responds to me that way. Most of the time though? I think I rank somewhere as a littermate.

Why? I get frustrated with her puppy behaviours. I get upset when she doesn't listen to me instantly. I kind of forgot how puppies were. The last time I had one was 10 years ago. She's like a toddler, and I am not the patient person I thought I was.

Prided myself on being.

Cesar says you don't get the dog you want. You get the dog you need.

I thought, watching his show "The Dog Whisperer" before Zoey arrived, that I would nail this whole calm assertive energy thing. Oh, I'm a professional actor, I'm trained, emotions are my friend, blah blah blah. I've had animals my whole life, I know how to deal with them, I'm so patient, this will be a breeze and we'll have the calmest dog in the city. No. The world.

Pride cometh before a fall.

And boy, what a fall! Instead of being patient, I get frustrated. Instead of calmly correcting, I get angry when she bites in play and punctures the skin (she has razor sharp puppy teeth). Instead of living in a calm, assertive state, I constantly have to stop and reevaluate my energy, breathe, and bring myself back from a tense, aggressive, stressful place to a calm and breathing one. Calm and assertive. Calm and assertive. Stop fixating. Relax. Let her be a dog, a baby, and teach her to obey. Calmly. Be. Just be the authority figure, the pack leader.

It's exhausting. Not to be calm, but to constantly bring myself back from stress.

Upon reflection I'm not sure why my behaviour, my state of mind, is so surprising to me. I worked at a day-care for a month and I got frustrated with the kids there. Granted, they were deliberately pushing buttons (seven year olds rarely call you a bitch otherwise); but they were also babies. Little kids. Not adults.

The difference with Zoey is that I can see her reading and reflecting my energy. It's uncanny. Right away, right there. I get angry, she gets insecure and excited. I get frustrated, she gets persistent and excited. I calm down and breathe and stop taking it all so personally, and she sits down and looks to me for direction. Like she's supposed to.

I'm sure kids read and reflect too. Looking back I can see that. But I see it so much clearer with Zoey. Maybe because I grew up with animals, surrounded by them, and my experience with kids is much more limited. Or maybe it's just because I'm more focused on my puppy than I am on someone else's kid. After all, I can look forward to 10 - 15 years of life with Zoey. The kids I got to leave behind every night.

I am forced to be more aware of myself in every aspect of my life in order to present authority to my dog.

I didn't expect that.

I didn't expect Zoey to show me that I have a short fuse. I am selfish and want to get my own way, instantly. I have high, unreasonable expectations of the other life forms I interact with. When I am upset I want the world to stop until my tantrum is over and I'm ready to continue.

(I knew that last one already. I realized that a few weeks ago when I was driving along a busy road in the city and Scott and I got into a fight. What did I want to do? Slam on the brakes until we'd had it out and he'd seen things my way. I think that would have gotten us in an accident, injured for sure and possibly killed, but damn, I almost did it before I realized the consequences. That scared me into non-rage in a hurry. And the same process happened again yesterday, although I thought I'd learned better. I guess I'm not super human in my learning curve after all. Fuck.)

So I can't stop the world as long as there are others in it. I should have figured that one out, sharing my world with people like I do, but for some reason it didn't click until the potential accident and the introduction of a puppy who is watching my every move, my every wave of energy and emotion and physicalization for cues on how to behave. On what's allowed. On where she can go and what she can do.

Somewhat like having a baby, I guess. Only I think it's less pressure. Dear God, what would I be like with a toddler of my own?

Well. I think Zoey will have taught me much more about myself before that happens.

And the funniest thing about all of this? I think I'll be a better actor, not just a better person, for it.

PMS

Just finally figured out why I've spent the last three days on the verge of crying whenever I watch The Dog Whisperer.

Or Fight Science.

Or when I listen to music.

Or write.

Or do anything except physical exercise.

Sigh.

This Resonates

I deeply admire Stephen King.

I have not read anywhere near enough of his books to consider myself a true fan. Let me correct myself. I do think of myself as a fan, an erstwhile, ill educated fan. Other people probably wouldn't consider me a fan because I haven't read enough of his stuff, but I'm getting there. Slowly and in a haphazard manner.

I just finished his book, Mist. This passage is one of the reasons I have a strong artist crush on the man.

“You know what talent is? The curse of expectation. As a kid you have to deal with that, beat it somehow. If you can write, you think God put you on earth to blow Shakespeare away. Or if you can paint, maybe you think - I did - that God put you on earth to blow your father away....since (realizing that he was a good commercial artist) that voice of disappointed expectation - that cheated child’s voice that can never be satisfied with such a mild superlative as good - has fallen pretty much silent. And except for a few rumbles - like the sounds of those unseen creatures somewhere out in the foggy night - it has been pretty much silent ever since. Maybe you can tell me - why should the silencing of that childish, demanding voice seem so much like dying?”

This is said by the main character, David, an artist.

In the middle of a book about human behaviour when faced with deep fear, he has this additional nugget of truth that resonated with me so much I had to write it down and keep it forever.

On a bit of a side note, in the opening credits of Alan Wake (that game I wrote about the other day), Alan attributes this quote to Stephen King. "Explanation is the antithesis to fear." Love, explanation - heart and mind - logic and emotion. Both are tools we were given to deal with the world around us, two sides of one coin. Too bad we humans tend to pick one side over the other instead of finding the balance between the two!

Bits and Pieces From My Mind

"Just give it to a thrift shop, they don't care if their water tastes like burnt."

I know he doesn't mean anything by it but my hackles rise a little anyway. But I don't know him that well so I say nothing.

I don't think he's ever had to face a reality of poverty. Where everything he owns comes from a thrift shop. A charity. Where if it wasn't for someone giving him something he'd have nothing.

If he has, he's sure as hell forgotten it already.

I can speak from experience - if I don't like the taste of burnt water, nobody else will either.

No matter how poor they are.

***

But we don't live by our emotions, do we?

This is still bothering me, weeks after reading it on an acquaintance's Facebook page. This acquaintance said she felt like her world was crashing down around her and she had nothing to hold onto. So what does one of her adult Christian friends - I'm assuming she's some kind of mentor - say to her? We don't live by our emotions. What you feel is invalid. Push it away, and hang onto God.

Why does this bother me?

I stop myself from commenting on this post over and over because I don't know what to say.

The assumption that we shouldn't take our emotions seriously - that we shouldn't listen to them - that we shouldn't live our lives by what we feel - it makes me feel uneasy.

Something I should ignore according to Christian Mentor there. Just stuff it away. God will take care of you. If you feel negatively, you just don't have enough faith. Trust God! God, God, God!

Look at all that projection. She didn't actively say any of that. Obviously I have some issues of my own to deal with.

But I would like to know why Christians think that emotions are so...so unnecessary. Why are we told that we shouldn't live by them? And what the fuck should we live by then? Our minds?

(Spoken as a true Blue.)

But I would like an answer. I don't think living solely by our minds is any better. I don't know about everyone else out there, but God doesn't usually use my brain to communicate with me, not right off the bat. First He grabs my attention by tweaking my heart in one way or another - through my emotions.

Because I listen to them.

Maybe it's just because I'm an actor and I have a bit more, oh I don't know what to call it. Emotional training? Positive experience with heightened emotional states? It's closer to training, how to open yourself up to that overwhelming experience, and then how to get yourself down without breaking or destroying yourself...maybe that, combined with my personality, makes emotions less scary for me than they are for the average person. Because emotions are scary, but that is a fear to be embraced. They serve a purpose. They are there to serve you as much as your brain is, your heart, your intelligence. It's all there because God put it there, and it pisses me off to see something so close to myself written off as an unnecessary appendix to life.

Because there needs to be a balance, and I think as Christians we all too often lose sight of that, and instead we push away the frightening aspect in favour of the one that makes more sense. The one that can't be manipulated by the Devil, after all, it's in the Bible. It's there in black and red.

As if knowledge is immune to the twisting of Darkness.

All of this just because I want to tell this acquaintance, this girl, that how she feels is okay. It's something to accept, to learn from, and to grow because of.

Ignoring emotions isn't going to build anything up except walls, and walls don't help any relationship. Not with people. Not with yourself. Not with God.

***

It just occurred to me that if I were to ask one of these two people what we were supposed to live by, they might say Faith.

Complete trust or confidence. Strong belief.

Those evoke emotional responses in me but maybe that's not how it is for everyone.

I don't really know what it means to live by faith. I have a bipolar faith - I either trust God completely or I don't trust Him at all.

I know when I'm struggling to trust when I get an anxious spring, a tightening in my chest that tells me everything is going to shit and no-one will be there to catch me.

I understand I should trust when I look back at the path behind me and see that I haven't been homeless or behind in any payments - even if I've been broke - and that I have been provided for. With friends, money, shelter, love...needs and desires.

And when I feel the trust there I am afraid of nothing. Perfect love casts out all fear.

***

It's telling to me that in Harry Potter, the Avada Kadavra spell, death by pure terror, isn't shattered by peace. It's broken by love.

It hits us on the most primitive level. Where everything is survival and instinct and reaction time. Love opposes fear, not hatred. Although I think a lot of hatred has fear at it's root.

I feel like a very fearful person sometimes, although I don't think I really am. I'm not afraid of bugs, or dead things or rodents; I have my fair share of rational fears but nothing that overwhelms me and keeps me from living a normal life. I'd hate to find an intruder in my home, for example, but the fear of it doesn't make me sneak around my home with a butcher knife.

My one irrational fear is a fear of the dark. It's something I've worked against since I was a kid. I learned quick that if you have a flashlight outside at night it just makes the darkness darker and inhibits your ability to see outside your little sphere, which I think makes you vulnerable to attack from all the crazies waiting in the shadows. I'd go out to check the animals at night and leave the light off until I needed to see details. Of course, when I slept I'd tuck the edges of the blankets underneath me so the dark creepy things couldn't sneak underneath the blankies with me. Even now I fight the impulse to jump from the light switch to the bed, so that I can prove to myself that nothing is lying in wait underneath my bed. And then I lay in bed and see shadows gathering in the corners and they appear to get thicker and darker and I tremble and shut my eyes and pray for the fear to be gone. Or I snuggle into S. because he's warm and alive and he'll protect me even when he's sleeping.

Love. It's pretty powerful.

I had a lot of dreams last night where I needed a flashlight to survive. Lots of battling the darkness with what little lights I had. It's probably just the combination of a few books I read - Brother Odd and Forever Odd by Dean Koontz - and the latest XBox game to grace our console, Alan Wake. Alan Wake has to fight Darkness personified with any light source he can get his hands on in order to save his wife. It's a pretty cool concept, actually. I haven't played it yet because just watching S. play makes me jump off the couch.

But these were just dreams, because I didn't wake up, skin crawling, sweaty, heart pounding with fear.

***

I finally figured out why two of my pots of sweet peas are dying. The cold at night is only bothering them, and it confused me no end until I realized they were the only two pots in front of the sliding patio door. The glass doesn't hold enough heat to keep them through the night. I moved them the day before yesterday, after they almost had it, and I think they're coming back already. Hurrah! Except now the middle of the balcony will be naked.

Write What You Know

I'm doing a fair amount of writing these days. It's amazing how many hours there are in a day when you have nothing to fill them. It's equally amazing how easy it is to piddle those hours away with useless, meaningless crap. Facebook, I'm looking at you.

I'm also getting in a lot of reading. The Chronicles of Narnia, The Sparrow and Children of God, Good Omens, Of Mice and Men. And the odd book on writing or acting. Or both.

The book I'm reading right now, The Blunt Playwright, is proving both enjoyable and thought provoking.

In particular the comments on knowing what the protagonist wants. This shouldn't require that much thought, should it?

But when I often don't know what I want in real life I guess it's not that surprising that I have trouble writing characters who know what they want too.

I mean, it works. Sometimes very well, because I think a lot of people go through life not knowing what they want. The trouble is that when you're writing a story, it has to go somewhere.

The people in the story have to want something badly enough to change their lives for it.

Which is also something I don't think I do on a regular basis. I don't know if I want anything outside my current sphere badly enough right now to change my life.

The wonder and beauty of writing, though, is that I am provided with catharsis and voyeurism on a daily basis. I live a dozen lives a day, lives where I do want something, badly enough to kill; where I fight, am angry, am gentle and soft; where I make sense of a confusing world and where I succumb entirely to the chaos, to the moment. Lives that end and lives that keep going. Moments captured and moments lost.

It's a challenge. It's an incredible release.


Even with this post, I don't really know what it is I want to say.

Just that I'm writing, I guess. And it's wonderful strange and hard all at once. I am so lucky to be able to just sit at home and write.

I should put that as my status on Facebook. Be right back...

Infected With Rage: Or How Zombies Showed Me The Light

I am furious right now. So furious I can't type properly. Furious like the zombies in 28 Days Later, but with a just cause.

There is a certain woman that keeps sending me chain emails full of hatred. I think I've mentioned her on here before. At first the emails made me shake my head. One made me weep. Several, including this latest one, have filled me with rage.

I don't understand how anyone who calls themselves a Christian can stand behind words of such hatred. The emails she sends out talk about how we should just kill all the Muslims by bombing the hell out of Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan - kill their women and children because 'they've done it to us'. They celebrate a professor at Michigan State because he told all the Muslim students to go home. They justify bigotry and racism because 'we are in a war'. (A war that was made up for political gain in my opinion, a war that hasn't fixed anything, a war against an act of terrorism that happened almost ten years ago and hasn't been repeated...but that's all irrelevant to the email campaign of hatred and fear, dressed up in patriotism and the love of God).

Even if it was an active war and people were being killed in America every day by terrorist bombs (I realize it happens more often overseas, but since it kills 'them' the emails ignore it), even then I couldn't advocate racism as an appropriate response. How does painting every Muslim with the same fanatical brush help anything? How does judging someone on their skin colour or ethnic heritage keep us, or anyone, safe?

I notice that she never sends out emails condemning all of Christianity because of the fanatical actions of certain sects of the faith.

She never sends out harsh words towards those who bomb abortion clinics, or beat homosexuals to death. Oh, right. Those people deserve to die because they're sinners. Unlike us.

Why can she judge Islam by the actions of a fundamentalist few and keep such a blind eye to the sins of her own professed faith?

Next she'll be saying we should round up the Jews for killing Christ.

I could let this ruin my day.

Or I could let it inform the actions I make in my own life. I could take a look at myself and see where I am blind, where I am a bigot, where I judge harshly without reason.

Maybe after I calm down I will. As much as I would rather just keep pointing a finger of righteous anger at her because it's easier, that doesn't help the world become a better place either.

This is the truth that I want to live by: "The ultimate sense of security will be when we come to recognize that we are all part of one human race. Our primary allegiance is to the human race and not to one particular color or border." Mohamed ElBaradei, Director General of the International Atomic Energy Agency, said that. An Egyptian by birth, named for the Muslim prophet, he may be Jewish but I don't know if that matters or not when a person is filled with hatred towards everyone who isn't perfectly Aryan.

And one could argue that our primary allegiance is to God - but I think this quote falls under "Love thy neighbour as thyself".

I'll settle for the world learning the second half of the commandment. It's a bitch to do. I certainly wouldn't risk my life to save this particular woman from zombies. (You'll know who really loves you when the zombies attack. True friends don't trip you when they're running away.)

Shoot. All my anger is deflated now that I realize I'm not living the commandment myself. Well, fuck.

True to form, it took a zombie reference to point out the truth of my own life to me. So now I'm going to go away and swear a whole lot and finally accept the fact that this woman, despite herself, has given me an opportunity to grow further into the Light.

Fuck.

Let It Snow...

It's snowing outside. Or rather, drizzling. It's not committing to either season out there, just a general mix of unpleasant, chilly precipitation.

S. is outside somewhere, rehearsing scenes for his job as a historical interpreter/actor this summer.

I'm inside, my feet cold and my lap full of warm computer, sipping tea and watching my sweet peas grow the best they can in the half-light that makes it through the clouds. My knee hurts like it always does when the weather's like this, damp and cold. Between that and my ankle full of twinges (and my sore wrists, and does anyone else notice that their hip joints kind of click when they do sit ups? No? Just me, then?) I could be an old lady.

Joints are apparently not my friends.

Which means that when I'm an old lady I may not be as independent as I would wish to be.

Which sucks.

But that's in the future, the very distant future, and I'm very good at not thinking about possible unpleasant futures if I can be persuaded to think about things like how to kill the darkspawn in Soldier's Peak or what life would be like in a zombie apocalypse or how to build a tree house in medieval Europe.

Or what I should make for supper when my sure-to-be cold man gets home.

Which reminds me, I should be in the kitchen. ;)

Rest In This, Daughter, And Know You Are Loved

This last week has been a time of thought and contemplation for me.

It seems like so many things are tying themselves together from past conversations into a present learning experience, which is both incredibly cool and extremely difficult to accept at the same time.

Months ago I had a conversation with one of my best girlfriends about the human relationship with God. She had just come back from a retreat where she was surrounded by artists who wanted to figure out how their faith fit into their art, and what she had to share with me blew my mind, to the point where I don't think it's really been able to absorb the heart-knowledge until now, and even now it's only just starting.

What she said was this: that we relate to God as either slaves or orphans, or on a good day, as sons (or daughters).

Slaves feel that they need to earn their keep, their love, their place in God's eyes. It's all about work. The work will save you. Orphans have no sense of what family is. They feel that God is transient and they need to steal their way into His heart. They need to please him in order to belong; and even then there is the constant fear that He will abandon them just as everyone else has.

On the other hand, Sons don't do anything. They can't. You cannot earn or steal the title of Son. You have that title before you are born, before you exist. It isn't something you earn, or accept, or steal. It's what you are. Nobody can give it to you and nobody can take it away.

All you can do, as a Son, is rest in your place.

That still makes me tear up.

It clicks, doesn't it.

So why is it so hard for me to accept?

I don't know.

I haven't had a steady, permanent job yet this year. Over and over I've felt, in my heart of hearts, that this is where I am supposed to be, that this time is gift meant for me to practice my craft of writing and auditioning. That this is my time to create and to rest.

I haven't accepted this. Instead I've fought it tooth and nail, looking frantically for work, feeling like I'm mooching off the system by being on EI. I've conveniently ignored the fact that I've paid into that system my entire working life and so it's not mooching. Even when that's been pointed out to me by my parents and by S, I've rejected it. I've ignored the creativity within me, pushing it aside to write my resume and pursue jobs that kill me just thinking about them.

Simply put, I've done everything but rest.

I have trust issues, have I mentioned that before? I'm very much like a toddler, believing that how things are now are how they will be forever. In my head, I will never find another job, so I'd better take the first thing that is offered to me no matter what it does to my soul. I struggle on a daily basis - no, hourly...rather, by the minute and the second - with believing that God will provide for me. I ignore all the evidence to the contrary - that I am clothed, fed and housed, that I am not yet broke - and take counsel with fear. I consider selling my soul, my actual eternal soul, to the powers of Darkness in exchange for financial security.

And then I wonder why my dreams are dark.

God is very patient. That's all I can say.

And I am very confused, most of the time.

I've been reading The Chronicles of Narnia and it amazes me how those stories also bring me to tears, over and over, by their power and simplicity. To see Aslan taking such joy in those He loves - it makes me cry to write that down - alongside His incredible patience and sorrow when they fail, or turn aside, or put pettiness above following the nobility within them. How He cries with Caspian dies, an old man...He really does share our sorrows with us, even when He knows better than anyone how short lived that sorrow will be, and that brings me to tears that He would care enough to partake in that with us, so that we won't be alone. And that He cares enough to share our most transient joys, even if it's nothing more than the pleasure of a romp in fresh air in the springtime.

For some reason it is easier for me to see clearly when I am in Narnia with Aslan, than it is when I am here and now, with God.

I think - I hope - He's okay with that. After all, as He says to Edmund and Lucy at the end of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (coming to film sometime this year, hurrah!), "...There I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

It's an uphill journey and I fear I am much more like Jill Pole than like Lucy Pevensie. But I try. And I put down my burdens, and I pick them back up, and I put them back down, and I start again.

For now, that will have to be enough. See? See how even then, I take the perspective of a slave, that my struggle is the work I must do to be fit for love? See how I turn to God as an orphan and cry out that I'm trying, please don't turn aside, I will be better, I will, I will.

I would never have thought that resting would be so much work - and I know it only is because I keep making it that way.

Goddamn this fight, this struggle to accept that I am loved, end of sentence.

I hope I'll get it eventually. I hope that someday I'll even just see His shadow as He leads me. That I'll feel His warm Lion's breath on my forehead and know, just know, that I am enough. Until then I am blind, with tears and with humanity, overwhelmed with sorrow at my own frailties, with the disbelief at the gift I am being given, day after day after day, offered to me every second as I doubt and fight and struggle with myself.

And for now, that will have to be enough.

Not for Him; for me.

Until I learn how to open my arms, my heart, and accept.

End of sentence.

Well, That Answered That Question

I have a connective tissue disorder called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Type III. Genetics. Gotta love 'em.

Most of the time it has no impact on my life. No, let me reword that. Most of the time I forget that not everyone experiences pain on a regular basis when they're simply going about their daily routine. I injured my wrists by clapping at a performing arts summer school; the repetitive motion of clapping stretched out the connective tissue in my wrists and now the bones grind and pinch nerves. I usually feel it when I do things like lift a kettle full of water or even just when I carry a plate sometimes, but I tend to ignore it because I need to in order to function. You don't realize how much you need your wrists until they hurt all the time; so that's the main thing that reminds me that my DNA isn't completely on my side.

The geneticist told me that the same injury in my wrists could repeat in my other joints, specifically my ankles. He also said as I aged the natural tightening would help the bones stay in place, but that I'd likely have arthritis in them by then so they'd keep on hurting for other reasons. Oh joy.

Well, my ankles have been bothering me for the last 2 weeks. So, keeping in mind what the good doctor said, I have been wrapping them in tensor bandages whenever I've had to do a lot of walking (such as door to door sales) or high-impact movements (which I don't usually do but I've been doing a cardio exercise regime that includes jumping jacks because I don't want to have a heart attack when I'm 40. The good thing about hereditary ailments is that you can try to prevent some of them).

This morning, after I wrote my post about how unhappy I was with this new job opportunity, I walked to the bus. Rather, I got half-way to the bus and my ankle crapped out. I kept going. I'm very stubborn. But then I realized that if I ignored my body and continued walking, I would likely wreck my ankle the way I wrecked my wrist.

If your ankles don't work, you can't walk.

If you can't walk, you're kind of useless. For anything.

So I phoned my trainer and said I wouldn't be in today, turned around and limped slowly home. I've been home for a few hours, following the RICE thing for injuries, and it still hurts like a - like a painful thing.

$*&#$%#@$!*#%!!!!!

I was going to say that God didn't have to hit me up the side of the head to answer my doubts about this job, but then I thought about it. Didn't I feel uneasy about doing this, and didn't I ignore my soul speaking and keep going?

I did.

Sigh.

Apparently I needed some pain to make me stop and listen.

I'd like to say lesson learned but I know that's probably not the case. All I can hope is that the learning curve won't always this painful.

Have You Switched to Shaw?

Hello! My name is Rebecca and I'm here on behalf of Shaw! I'm in the neighbourhood trying to save people money by bundling their services! What do you currently have with Shaw?

God. Shoot me now.

I just got offered a job working as a door to door salesperson. I've done one training day and I already hate it.

That's probably not a good sign.

The whole atmosphere in the office is that it's all about the dolla dolla bills, yo. I can't. I just can't. I faked interest and enthusiasm yesterday. I'm not sure I can fake it again.

It's a straight up sales job, all commission. The money can be great. My trainer pulled in $275.00 yesterday. She's very persistent.

She also doesn't listen well.

One gentleman told us that he's with Telus and he's not happy with the service, but he wants his word to be good; he signed a contract and he won't break it because he has to look at himself in the mirror every day and that's worth more to him than saving twenty bucks a month. My trainer told him she broke people out of contracts all the time. He responded that he didn't care. His word was his word and he wasn't going back on that. She repeated that she could save him money. Like saving money is what life is about.

Fuck.

I respect that man. His viewpoint is a rare one. He is a trustworthy gent, and that is honourable.

My trainer has no use for that honour. I got a semi-dirty look when I told the man I thought he was respectable. She never told me off for saying anything, but as we walked away she dismissed him as 'old school'.

And the thing is, if you don't sell you don't make any money.

So my question is, do I want to devote any more time to this?

And my dilemma is that I have no other job. I have no other prospects either. I feel guilty even thinking about turning down a potential opportunity in favour of sitting at home on EI. I should take this job because no-one else is interested in hiring me. Right?

At least until I find something.

But what if I never do?

Is this a test of faith, or is this an answer to prayer?

It sure doesn't feel like an answer. How can if be if I feel so strongly about this after one day? I can't buy into the mindset of sales. The game. The chase. The 'kill'. That's what they fucking call it. A sale is a kill. Like we're a 'wolf pack' and we bring down gazelles.

Not interested!

But also poor!

Fuck.

I also can't believe that I will find success and be able to follow my dreams if I pursue a high paying job for a couple of years.

I feel like I'm whoring out my soul.

I guess that's my answer right there, isn't it?

I'll Tell You What I Want, What I Really Really Want...

...just as soon as I figure it out.

What do I want out of life? I've been pondering that a lot lately.

I continually find that as far as the here and now goes, I haven't got a clue. Big picture? Oh yeah, I can tell you that. I want to die as an old lady who has never lost her independence or her love of life, surrounded by family and friends I love who love me back. I want to be remembered for more than one generation, for being an honest, strong, noble and friendly person, accepting and wise. I want my words to live on after me. I want my thoughts to spark thoughts in others; it really doesn't matter to me if I get paid for those thoughts as long as they live on without me.

And I don't think I'm there yet and that's okay.

But as for what I want right now? I don't know. I only know what I don't want right now and that isn't helping. (I recently watched Vicky Christina Barcelona and I almost disliked how much the character of Christina resonated with me. Watch it. It's worth spending 90 minutes on.)

Which just brings me back in circles. What do I want to do to pay my bills, for instance?

That question comes up blank. Which really isn't helping. Especially when I've got a job interview that could lead to a full time, long term thing, in an area that interests me but isn't directly involved in the area I trained in, and if they offer me a job what do I do? What do I do?

I need a paycheque.

And I need my soul to be fed.

Maybe having those two needs met in one place isn't realistic, considering what feeds my soul and what actually pays.

All of which is a moot point if they don't offer me a job. So I guess instead of freaking out before my eggs are hatched, I'll just sit tight and stop fretting.

For now.

Breathe

A week and a half later and I'm just breathing.

Man, what a rough weekend that was! On Friday I lost my temp job because they hired someone full time. It wasn't unexpected but I hate being unemployed. The days stretch on without an external force to govern them, no imposed schedule too often means no schedule at all for me.

But I had plans. I was going to focus all my time on the show. I was not only the playwright and an actor, but also Head of Marketing which was just about to kick into high gear.

And then it all got postponed indefinitely.

Now I have nothing to fill my days with. Nothing. NOTHING. Except to mull over and over what happened, what could I have done differently, what should I have said, what he said, what she did or didn't do...

Mulling can turn into brooding really easily.

Especially if you're a blue personality like I am.

I tried to shut it off, push it away and focus on other things, but every time I sat down to write that was all that came up. Anger. Frustration. Betrayal. Bitterness. Rage, and I was blocked, no words coming out except words of pain, my pain, not related to the work I was trying to do. I could journal until my fingers were numb but the second I turned to write something creative, whether it was something new or something I'd been working on for months and a giant rock settled itself in my brain and my soul and I was blocked entirely.

I'm working past it right now. Channeling all of my anger into angry stories. But it really felt like having one creative avenue shut down killed all of my desire to try again with something else.

Immature I know. But that's what it felt like.

So I put everything to the side, put my life on hold and ignored it all.

Until that didn't work anymore.

And then I began to sort, to think instead of brood, and I made myself sit my ass down in a chair and write even though I didn't feel like it. And what came out was angry, yes, but it was part of a story and I felt better afterwards. Like I had done something productive for the first time in days. Like I'd finally gotten out of bed and shown up for something instead of wallowing in self-pity and bitterness.

And I signed up for Script Frenzy, which may or may not have been an insane idea as I now have to write a 100 page script by April 30th but I suspect it'll force me to show up and move on every day, the external force I so desperately need right now.

We have an audition tomorrow. I hope it goes well - it could mean employment for the summer. Either way though, I will be imposing a schedule on myself. Waking up to an alarm. Going to bed on time. Eating when meals are supposed to happen and writing from this time to this time every day.

I think it's time I stopped drifting and made an island for myself instead of waiting to float into something. None of the things I've floated into this year have provided a lasting foundation.

It must be my job to create that for myself, with the help of God and the people in my life whom I trust to stick around and support me.

So here goes, and the whole while I'll just be here breathing.

We'll see what happens next.

Bitter

Somebody pray for me.

Pray that bitterness and mistrust won't overwhelm certain friendships; that anger and frustration won't overwhelm certain partnerships; pray that I will find some light in this and some hope, and that I will find some faith to keep moving forward.

Because it seems like a pointless fight right now, the day after it all, and I am having a hard time moving forward.

Maybe it's too soon to even try. But even so, I don't want to get stuck here.

So pray for me, because I think I need it.

Riled Up

Turns out I had just cause.

And being aggressively upset did me no good.

I'm going to go drink now.